The Siren's Song
by Red Zeppelin
Summary: Decades ago, an outside force called the Mainlanders invaded Hoenn and colonized it as their own, ushering the island into darkness for the native inhabitants. Follow the story of John Smith, a Hoenn native, as he works to right the wrongs of a deal gone bad. He must fight slavers, wild pokemon, and his own inhibitions to succeed; the price of failure is a fate worse than death.
1. Prologue: Promises

AN: Thanks for clicking on this. Just wanted to add that I don't own Pokemon or its world; however, my interpretation of the world and the characters I have created are my own.

* * *

_The blonde-haired boy stood over the cliff, listening intently to the forest below. _

_A horn sounded from somewhere within the wooded valley. That had been the third one in five minutes. Concern etched the boy's face, as he considered the potential danger that could follow. It would not have been the first time they had laid such dishonest traps._

_An older man walked up behind him. He had heard the horns too._

"_You ain't actually considering going out there, are ya' John?" The man asked._

_The boy remained quiet as he heavily considered his options._

"_Well, what if they're slavers?" The man pressed pleadingly._

_John sighed and turned to face the man. _

"_What if they aren't?"_

* * *

He never thought it would work. He knew it couldn't work. And he would be right, for she was a princess, and he a mere farmer.

But this was different. The stakes were different.

He had a promise to keep.

The mighty walls of Rustboro towered over him as he neared the city. They were said to be impenetrable. The many scars seared on to the immense wall told the stories of the many attacks - from both pokemon and people - on the city of Rustboro. Each story ended the same; the attackers were utterly and irrevocably defeated.

Yes, the walls of Rustboro could repel the standing armies of people and the massive swarms of pokemon, but what of a single human boy?

Guards dotted the lengthy walls, so focused on keeping an eye out for pokemon that they missed the sleek human dodging his way from cover to cover. The boy reached a large oak tree closest to the city walls, and went to retrieve something from his inner jacket pocket. What he retrieved was an apricot shell, with a glass circle along the circumference, which in turn appeared to be cut through. From a first glance, one would think the shell would be hollow; such a person would be technically correct, yet the truth was so much more.

John clicked the central button, which opened the apricot shell, releasing red energy from the exposed interior. The power gathered into a sphere, then a fluid shape, then finally took shape. The red energy completed its transformation in the form of a wooded creature, a pokemon.

Beady, yellow eyes shone through the darkness, which John instinctively recoiled from. They had always unnerved him, despite how long they had been together. The pokemon huffed, and turned to face the walls, with its thick, white leaves blowing in the wind.

The pokemon turned to face John before he even uttered a word.

"Tenji!"

John hissed. "Fuckin' mind readers." He had still never gotten used to the shiftry's telepathic abilities.

But that wasn't important at the moment. He focused his attention at the wall; it was tall, approximately fifty feet tall. It would be a challenge, but one that could be surpassed. A dot stood idly on a section of the wall near the oak tree; it was a long shot, but John had no reason to doubt his pokemon's abilities.

John barked an order, and the pokemon's wrists flared out with leaves. With a flick of the wrist, a serrated leaf was launched into the night sky. The pokemon's aim was true, and the attack cut through the closest lone guard on the wall.

The boy tossed the hollowed apricot shell back at the monster to recall it, and retrieved a second apricot from his inside pocket. This shell released a tangled mess of a plant, vines constantly snaking around each other.

John motioned for the new pokemon to follow and ran toward the city wall. The vined mess lagged behind – its wooded feet made for poor running.

When the pokemon reached the wall, John whispered another order. This time, the monster waddled over to a pool of mud and squatted down. Its rooted feet dug into the ground, rapidly sucking up nutrients into its dehydrated body. Its vines pulsed with nutrients, and its body appeared to grow larger with each passing second. After absorbing what it deemed to be sufficient, the monster whipped a vine toward an extended cobblestone on the wall. The vine hooked it and grabbed tightly.

John thanked the monster, and began his treacherous climb up the vine. He firmly grasped the rope-like material and tentatively lifted his legs, curling them around the vine, giving John the appearance of a chimchar hanging from a tree branch. He began his ascension of the wall. The vine billowed in the open air as he travelled upwards, threatening to throw the boy to the ground below. Yet, John had no fears of the vine giving away; after all, tangela vines were said to be as strong as steel cables.

At last, John reached the top of the wall. Stepping on the cobblestone the vine was latched on to, he grabbed the highest portion of the wall that he could reach and pulled himself over. He peered between the crenellations at the tangela waddling below and sighed. It had been a good pokemon, but all good things must come to an end, and it was time for them to part ways.

John took one last look at the pokemon, before turning toward the stairwell. He hurriedly moved past the fallen guard, unperturbed at the sight of death, and ran down the stairs. It was best to leave the area as quickly as possible before someone spotted the body.

The boy ran and ran. Ten. Fifty. One hundred steps. He finally reached the last stair, and froze before the sight before of him.

Hundreds, thousands of lights shone before John. Rustboro's skyline shone like a beacon in the dark, brightening the night sky with its golden brilliance. The towering monstrosities of buildings stood silhouetted against the sky acting in defiance of the natural world. It was a common trait of Mainlander architecture, as they didn't just want to conquer lands, they wanted to prove it for all to know. In the distance, the blackened outline of a regal palace towered over the sea, casting its powerful glance over the city of Rustboro.

John knew that was where he needed to go.

That is where he is headed.

John removed the bandana around his neck and tied it on his head, hiding his hair. To the Mainlanders, he was a gweilo_ - _a slur they used that referred to people with fair, pale skin - and they would certainly take umbrage at his presence, especially in their city. The dark of night might raise questions about his identity, but his dirtied blonde hair would remove all questions.

Deeming his disguise acceptable, John headed out into the darkened streets.

He had heard the stories, of course. Stories that described the great wealth and riches the invaders brought over from the mainland. Stories describing cities, built on foundations of gold, overlooking the island's coastlines. At one point in history, Rustboro was just a mere Japanese fishing village. It was the first village destroyed when the Mainlanders arrived with their massive warships, an event that united the Japanese and other inhabitants of Hoenn for the first time since the Cataclysm. As the stories go, the invaders crushed the unified army, annexing the shorelines of Hoenn and effectively trapping its inhabitants inside.

That was what John was told, at least. The invasion of the Mainlanders happened way before his time. A nagging thought pushed into his mind, though: how long until the invaders conquered the rest of Hoenn? They had remained complacent for some time, choosing to remain on the coastlines. Only the slaving parties made trips into the interior. John pushed the thought away; it was neither important nor relevant.

The boy walked through the streets of the city, expecting to see the vast wealth of these people.

He saw none of that. Rather, the slums he passed reminded him more of his village. Dirty children played on the streets, oblivious to the poverty around them. Mothers, silently, watched from darkened windows.

John felt a brief pang of guilt, but then saw an olive-skinned girl with dirtied black hair - common traits of the Japanese - pushed out of the doorway, followed by an enraged man, shouting at her in his foreign tongue. He reminded himself that these people were slavers, and he should feel no sympathy for such beings.

The boy stopped himself. "Not all of them are like that," he muttered to himself. The princess wasn't like that.

The dilapidated buildings began to grow into booming office towers, and the streets organized into a gridlock pattern. Probably the city's economic center, John surmised, as the streets were cleansed of the dirtied riff-raff seen in the slums. Few pedestrians walked the street; behind John, a bus turned the corner, probably carrying its passengers home after a long day of work.

A loud note echoed from the city walls, and John froze in silent fear, as did many other pedestrians. He knew the meaning of such a sound. One of the many cultural practices the invaders had brought over from the mainland was the use of large brass cymbals and gongs for warring armies, often used to strike fear into the hearts of the opposition.

Within the city of Rustboro, they were used as sirens, which meant only one thing -

The guards had found the body.

A wave of panic swept over John, He looked back at the wall; he covered a decent amount of distance from it, so he would likely be safe where he was. However, the palace would undoubtedly be under stricter guard.

John quickened his pace and ducked his head, scurrying like an ant between the monstrous buildings. He didn't have as much time as he thought.

A red light flashed on the street opposite John, indicating a pokemon had been released. A golden-furred fox rose up on its hind legs, accompanied by a burly, bearded man.

A kadabra, John recognized. The trainer was probably a guard for the city, and had been radioed to do a psychic think-scan, a practice John was familiar with. In fact, John's village elders employed psychic think-scanners on the grounds outside the town; it was one of the means to protect the village from slaver raids.

One of the village's psychic trainers had told John how think-scans worked; essentially, pokemon with telepathic powers would extend their thoughts a certain distance. Any minds caught within that range - the scanning was indiscriminate; it gathered the thoughts of all living creatures - would be picked up by the psychic pokemon, who would relay those thoughts to the trainer. Said trainer would process the thoughts and proceed with an action they deemed necessary. In other words, think-scans could help determine between friend and foe.

The boy gulped as the kadabra's eyes shone blue with psychic energy. It turned its head as it carefully scanned the street. Its head stopped in John's direction. The blue eyes were intimidating, and John felt a small presence poke the back of his mind.

Think-scans were not infallible; ghosts and dark-types were immune to psychic powers. If a person was in the presence of such a pokemon, he could theoretically protect himself from a potential scan by masking his actual thoughts with false thoughts.

A drop of sweat rolled down John's face; as part of his deal, he had been promised immunity to psychics, so why was the kadabra focusing on him for so long?

Finally, the psychic turned its head, focusing its energy on something else. The boy had gotten by for now.

At last, John reached the out wall of the palace. The moonlight shone behind the structure, accentuating the silhouettes of the pagodas circling the palace. The main building sprung from the center of the courtyard, its tiered floors growing narrower in length and width with each story in a style similar to that of a step pyramid. Two armed guards stood in front of the palace walls, with a closed portcullis protecting their rear.

No pokemon, John noted. He reached for Tenji's ball, and released the pokemon in an explosion of light, easily catching the guards' attention.

It was too late for them.

Two razor leaves whipped out from the darkness, silently cutting down the guards and extinguishing their lives. The bodies slumped to the ground with a soft thud.

One second passed. Then, another.

A third second passed. No guards appeared to have heard the noises, though the John didn't want to wait and see. He took the initiative and headed for the portcullis, with Tenji in tow.

The portcullis stood tall – approximately twenty feet tall. The wall around it was thin as it was only two bricks wide from where the gate stood. This was perfect. From an outsider's perspective, the portcullis appeared to serve as the sole doorway into the palace courtyard.

But, given the proper utilities, there is more than one way to get past a door.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairwell, and John knew he could not linger any longer.

With baited breath, John held on to Tenji's shoulder and nodded. "You know what to do."

The pokemon reached out and touched the wall beside the portcullis. Upon contact, the shadows from the wall appeared to swell upward and absorb the monster's hand. The shadow continued to grow as the pokemon's forearm, then upper arm, then torso disappeared into the growing darkness.

John gulped an exceptionally large breath, and hammered his eyes closed. Immediately, his mind wandered to his first – and, until now, last – time he stepped into the…

No, John interrupted himself mid-thought. It was best not remind himself of it; such thoughts were best kept for another time.

Cold, dead air emanated from the void, blowing back John's hair as he gingerly stepped through. He recognized the dim hum that began to reverberate throughout his skull; whether the noise was a product of this haunted place or simply a fabrication of his mind was something he could not determine. John squeezed his eyes harder. The soft noise gradually rose to a crashing crescendo; the dull reverberations in his mind were quickly replaced with a loud, hateful screech. Mental barriers broke and panic flooded John's mind as the visions filled his mind once again.

Everything returned to normal as quickly as it started. After what felt like hours, John's eyes creaked open, and took a cursory glance at his surroundings. He was sure that he had been crying, although the lack of tears suggested otherwise. Tenji, stood before him, staring disinterestedly at something off in the distance. Behind the pokemon, the great palace of Rustboro stood before John, basking in all its glory under the moonlight.

John heaved a sigh of relief. It appeared that, despite his doubts, the faint attack had worked. "Never again," he reminded himself. The underworld was place he wished to avoid for a long time.

The sound of movement coming from the other side of the wall snapped John out of his reverie. Soldiers.

"Shit," John hissed, as he remembered the very real danger lurking beyond the wall. They would undoubtedly find the two bodies he had left, and they would find them soon at that.

The courtyard that lay before John was a large, open expanse. By his estimates, the palace entrance lay approximately three hundred yards away. John gritted his teeth. It was a long shot, but not impossible. Besides, he had worked too hard, sacrificed too much to get caught.

It was now or never. Do or die. He'd be damned if he didn't succeed now.

And, of course, he had a promise to keep.

With a boost of resurging confidence, John sprinted off toward the palace, huffing and pushing his body's limits with each step. As he approached the halfway point, the city's gong once again cried out into the night. Yet, for whatever reason, John didn't seem to care. His legs ached and his lungs wheezed, and John still didn't care.

John bolted under the arched facade and into the candlelit interior of the palace. He tore through room after room, ran up a staircase here, and down a corridor there. The palace was designed to confuse and hinder invading armies; its twisting staircases and dead-end hallways created a labyrinth, yet instinct led him through the maze.

He turned the corner into a large corridor and stopped. Across from him stood a man decorated in fitting black chainmail, with the red crest of Rustboro's royal family embroidered on the front. One hand held a long spear with a wicked tip; the other held an apricot ball.

He was undoubtedly a royal guard, the highest and most respected position in the Rustboro city guard. It was his job to keep the royal family safe from harm.

Beyond the man lay an intimidatingly large, decorated door, and John knew this to be his destination.

Outside, the boots of the city guard echoed across the courtyard.

"One last hurdle," John said to himself as Tenji caught up. Perhaps a quick razor leaf would do the trick.

Reading John's mind, Tenji leapt into action, hurling two razor leaves at the armored man. With speed that belied his size, the man rolled out of the way, leaving the razor leaves to slice into the door behind him. The man quickly recovered, activated the ball's delay timer, and threw his apricot into the air. The ball exploded in a bright light, releasing a pokemon with blue fur and large ears.

A loudred, John recalled. These pokemon were common in the mountains near his village. Their large ears served to amplify outgoing noise, while also reducing incoming noise to tolerable levels. Their amplified screams easily bounced off canyon walls, alerting pokemon and humans to their presence.

Or as a warning to others. There was a reason loudred and their species were referred to as poke-alarms.

John did not hesitate to counterattack. "Tenji, the ears!" He ordered. The leafy pokemon flung his last razor leaf at the loudred. The projectile twisted through the air, hitting its mark and lopping off one of the beast's ears.

Tenji did not stop there. The monster bounded through the room, quickly crossing the distance toward the loudred as it writhed in pain. The guard shouted commands, attempting to regain control over the panicking loudred, but to no avail.

Tenji collided with the injured pokemon, clawing its face as they both fell to the floor. The loudred struggled to counter, swiping at Tenji's face with its paw, while the wooded pokemon continued to rake long gashes along its face.

The struggle was short-lived. The loudred's efforts waned as it succumbed to its heavy injuries. At this point, John noticed the guard swoop behind Tenji, attempting to intercept his assault.

"Behind you!" John screamed. The pokemon heard, and drifted into the shadows just as the guard's spear cut through the air.

The guard stepped back, face wrought in fear and body shivering in anticipation. Countering a dark-types faint attack was nearly impossible, as it required predetermined knowledge of where it would strike. He searched every shadow, dark corner, or any reasonable flank the pokemon would strike from. Even John was curious where Tenji would turn up.

The rustling of leaves broke both of their concentrations. Tenji plummeted from the ceiling, landing on the guard's back and knocking him to the ground, smashing the guard's head in the process.

"No one expects it from above," John mused. The guard rolled over onto his back, exposing his bloodied face and staring blankly at the ceiling. He sputtered nonsensically, mustering the little English he knew, prophesizing John's doom and whatnot.

John leaned over and shushed the concussed man before sending a glance at Tenji. The shiftry's yellow eyes gleamed with anticipation, and the blonde-haired boy shuddered at the pokemon's sick excitement at what would happen next.

The boy closed his eyes and gave an approving nod, and added, "Keep it clean." John moved towards the door, stepping over the motionless body of the loudred, while ignoring the gurgles of the guard's death throes.

He took a look up at the door. It was a magnificent work of art. Gold ran across the outside, serving as a border for a beautiful and intricate painting.

John recalled Tenji and grabbed hold of the jewel-encrusted knob. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for what lay beyond. The door was heavy and opened slowly, adding to the dramatic effect of the situation; it took all of his strength the move it. At last, the door creaked open just enough for John to slide through. The boy turned just as the door slammed shut behind him and gasped at the sight before him.

The room was large and well lit. Its lavish interior mirrored that of the door outside.

But that wasn't what captured John's attention.

Across the room stood a regally dressed girl, perhaps a couple years younger than John, with a sabre gripped tightly in her trembling hands.

Princess Li was beautiful, to say the least. She was the perfect image of a Mainlander; soft, brown eyes were framed by her tanned skin, with her long, black hair flowing down her back.

However, this was not seen at the moment. The sabre in her hands fell to the floor at the sight of the blonde-haired boy. Her face contorted through panic and fear and confusion and shock as she struggled to find words to speak.

Finally, she managed to find her voice. "John?" Li squeaked softly, her voice barely making it to John's ears.

John stood tall and faced her, exposing his dirtied clothes to the light. "My love," he said softly, as he crossed the room to meet her.

"John," the princess whispered softly again, as she struggled to understand the reality of the sight before her. "Is that you? Is it really you?"

They boy briskly walked up to the princess and bowed. "I made a promise."

She stammered again, ignoring his words. She struggled to translate her thoughts from her native tongue. "They said you – you killed people. Is this true?" Li's face reddened with anger at this realization. "How could you?"

"I –" John stuttered lamely, completely caught off guard. Why was it this difficult? Wasn't she supposed to fall into his arms as they walked away? Together?Shouldn't she be more understanding?

He looked up and into her eyes and by the Gods, she looked beautiful. "Don't you remember that night?"

The princess's features softened in a caring and motherly fashion. She remembered vaguely, but she remembered none the less. She didn't mean to break his heart, but he had left her no choice.

"John," she said softly. "I'm sorry –"

The sounds of boots stomping interrupted her. Li's eyes flashed with panic. "You have to leave," She said pleadingly. "They'll kill you if they find you."

John dropped to one knee before her. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

He touched her hand.

A sensation flashed behind John's eyes, his left eye specifically. It alternated between a sharp, stinging pain and a dull ache, causing John to recoil. His vision began to blur while a headache sprung up and intensified with every passing second. A familiar screeching sound pervaded through his mind, reminding him of the dim moan of the underworld.

A supernatural wind followed, and John realized that the source of the noise was not coming from his growing headache, but rather from the room itself.

Loose objects flew into the air as the wind began to pick up in speed, swirling around the center of the room and creating a surreal epicenter for the ghostly storm.

Princess Li escaped to the walls of the room, which appeared to be a safe zone, while John continued to writhe in the middle of the room. On the other side of the room, the grand doors flung open as guards flooded into the room, only to turn tail and run from the hellish sight before them.

The well-lit room turned dark as a voice boomed over the scene, followed by a dark figure rising up from the ground beside John. The figure looked familiar, yet for the life of him, John couldn't recall from where.

The figure's sole red eye cast its glance across the room, before finally stopping at John.

"_You have not paid your debts," _the being boomed in a thick Japanese accent. _"You have failed to fulfill your promise."_

The pain subsided just long enough for John to recall the identity of this dark being, and a wave of pure terror crashed over him.

John trembled beneath the shadow of the cursed being, trying to stammer out an apology, yet struggling to create words.

The shade grabbed John with a massive hand, and held him up in the air like a ragdoll.

"_You have failed to uphold your promise, you must pay the price."_

The ghost descended into the void of which it came from, dragging John alongside it.

The boy watched as the void closed up above him, and everything turned to black.

* * *

**Think-scan: **telepathic ability to extend thoughts over a certain distance, allowing the user to read the minds of others; the sensation of being think-scanned is often described as a poking feeling in the back of the mind; most commonly used by psychics, although other pokemon types capable of telepathy can use this, too (see: shiftry); term coined and translated by a Japanese pokemon professor from Lavaridge, hence its awkward phrasing

**Gweilo: **derogatory Mainlander term for people with white skin; when translated, it means something similar to "white demon" or "ghost"; there are other slurs the Mainlanders use to describe those of Japanese descent

**The Cataclysm: **the worldwide apocalyptic event that obliterated the human population and ended the Information Age, ushering the world into the Pokemon Age; technological development halted in most areas, and even regressed in some areas; not much is known about the event itself

**Mainland architecture:** usually consists of tall buildings made of steel, concrete, and glass; heavily inspired by the architecture of a pre-Cataclysm metropolis called "New York City"

**The underworld: **also called the Distortion World, not much is known about this place, although it is believed to be the home of spirits and ghost types; dark types can use faint attacks to traverse the underworld for a limited time; no human is known to have successfully traveled through via faint attacks, those that have tried experienced mental regression to that of - on average - a five-year old, not including other mental disorders acquired

**Poke-alarms: **common colloquialism for the whismur line; references the species ability to, as the locals put it, "be loud shitheads"

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I give credit to the word-list at the end of the chapter to L. Lamora and his Game of Champions fic. I made my own because I though it would help my story, as there is a lot of information that I can't cover in each chapter.

All reviews are all welcome. I might just review your stuff too!


	2. Chapter 1: Revelations

AN: Just wanted to point this out, as I hadn't don't this in the previous chapter. In this story Hoenn will be rotated 90 degrees clockwise (I believe). To give an example, Rustboro will be the northern-most city in this story, whereas in the games Rustboro is the western-most city. Likewise, Sootopolis will be in the south rather than the east, and so on. Just wanted to give a heads up, as some people might get confused reading this next chapter.

* * *

_John walked among the wreckage. Mutilated bodies – people and pokemon, alike – were strewn across the grassy floor. The shattered remains of an old truck lay against a large tree. _

_Figuring it was a caravan of some sort, the boy walked closer to the truck's broken husk. He brought his flashlight closer to the vehicle; a red pidgeot with two lanterns hanging off its wing was painted onto the side of the truck. The boy recognized it for what it was: the red crest of Rustboro's royal family. _

_This was no ordinary caravan, then. _

"_Not slavers," John surmised, "but still Mainlanders." _

_That still left a question unanswered: what were they doing here?_

_A noise interrupted John's thought process. He whipped his body around, shining the flashlight where he thought the sound came from._

"_Who's there?"_

* * *

John stirred quietly as he gently arose from his sleep. He blearily glanced around the room; it was dark, save for one lone torch on the opposite side.

For the life of him, he couldn't remember what had happened last night. And where the hell was he? The cold, stone room was completely alien to him. Upon further inspection, the room wasn't even made of stone; rather, it looked like it was carved out of a mountainside.

A drip of cold water landed on John, knocking him out of his reverie. He looked up at the source – a small stalactite poked its way from the ceiling. Another drip fell down, splashing next to John's feet. It was definitely in a cave of some sort, the boy figured.

The boy stood up, and immediately reeled from a headache on the left side of his skull. How he had not noticed it before, John would never know. The pain blurred his vision, making it harder to see in the dark room. It squeezed the area behind his eye, pulsing and contracting intensely. Sweat formed and dripped along his blonde hair, running down his face and into his eyes, further blinding him. The agony was too much; John curled into the fetal position hoping it would somehow, someway, wish the pain away. The biting pain began spreading out from his eye, reverberating through his skull, down his neck and –

The pain stopped completely. John breathed heavily and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He didn't know what the hell had caused that, but he didn't want to wait around for the pain to strike again.

He stumbled out of his dank room and into a long corridor that smelled faintly of lavender. Torches similar to the one in the room lined the wall at even intervals. The light was minimal, barely illuminating the floor. John struggled to keep his balance as he walked down the uneven corridor; bad footing and jutting rocks threatened to trip up the boy. The fragrance grew stronger the farther he walked down the hallway, making it harder to breathe.

The hallway made a sudden jut to the left, which opened up into an immense cavern. Stalactites decorated the ceiling, while stalagmites dotted the ground. Torches lined the wall, and a fire lit up the center of the room.

"Good to see you're awake."

John snapped to attention, focusing in on the source of the words. An elderly, haggard woman sat besides the fire, with a wispy misdreavus floating beside her. John reached down towards his belt to retrieve Tenji's apricot from its spot –

- Only to realize it wasn't there.

He also realized he had been without a shirt this entire time.

On the opposite side of the fire sat John's bag and two apricots. A cold sweat dripped down John's face. He was defenseless and shirtless; if such a worse combination existed, John couldn't think up of it.

"Relax," the old hag said. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Unsurprisingly, this did nothing to assuage John's fears. He stood quietly by the door, scheming a contingency plan. Perhaps, if he was quick enough, he could reach Tenji's apricot before the misdreavus got to him.

The hag sighed in exasperation, frustrated with the lack of cooperation.

"If you want your stuff, just take it," the hag said icily, motioning to his bag. "Put on a shirt while you're at it, too."

The boy hesitated, and then slowly walked towards his bag. He did a cursory search – everything was there, nothing seemed to be missing – and placed the two apricots on his belt.

The hag looked up at him expectantly. "Are you going to put on a shirt?"

John looked into his backpack: nothing. "I don't have an extra one," he confessed.

The misdreavus cackled, and the hag sighed. "Clothing is probably the least of your worries, right now. Tell me," the hag looked up at John expectantly, "do you know what you are doing here?"

Emotions the boy didn't realize he was suppressing burst forth. "Gods! I have no idea, can't even remember what happened last night!" His wavered with frustration, each word carrying a weight John didn't know they had. Anger welled, and he was on the verge of tears.

"Where am I?" John finally mustered, choking back the tears.

The hag sat quietly, carefully planning each word she was about to say. "You are on Mount Pyre," the hag said slowly, "I found you lying amongst the graves last night."

Mount Pyre. That rang a bell for John. Suddenly, he remembered. Rustboro, the royal guard, Princess Li. The demon that dragged him into the void.

John collapsed to the floor, overwhelmed by the flood of memories. It was too much for him to handle, and the floodgates opened; tears freely streamed down his face. Gods, he remembered all too well. Everything had gone perfectly - his plan executed without a hitch - and he finally had the chance to reunite with the princess, his love. But that Gods-damned ghost - for whatever reason - had betrayed its promise. It broke its promise and fucked him over!

Hot anger replaced the streaming tears, and John attempted to stand back up, but couldn't get to his feet. His headache reemerged with renewed vigor, pulsing violently behind his left eye, and the anguished moans were replaced with cries of pain.

The hag rushed by his side, quick to check John's vitals. Everything seemed in order, she noticed after a quick check. She flipped him on to his side in case he needed to vomit, allowing the fire's light to brighten up his face. A glare reflected off of the boy's left eye, catching the elderly woman's attention.

"No," the hag muttered. Were her eyes deceiving her? Certainly the boy wouldn't do such a thing.

She bent over to get a better vantage of the boy's eye. The fire's light flickered off the boy's face once again, and the hag recoiled as her suspicions were confirmed. The misdreavus hissed, backing away from John as he writhed in agony.

John's flailing slowed as the pain subsided. He was sweating profusely now, and his body ached from violently rolling around the rocky floor.

The old hag took advantage of the newfound calm, and grabbed John's forearm. She had one more suspicion she had to confirm.

Basking in the fire's light, a long scar mark made its way up the boy's wrist. The scar was faint, indicating that it was not meant to kill, just to draw a small amount of blood.

She leaped back and pointed an accusing finger at John. Behind her, the misdreavus hissed viciously.

"You damned fool!" She screamed.

John, finally regaining control from the torturous pain, recoiled from shriek. He shot a bewildered look at the hag that questioned her accusation.

"Don't give me that look, you know damned well what you did!" The hag shrieked again. She took a deep breath – she was too old to get this worked up – and attempted to calm herself down. However, she couldn't withhold the immense fury at the stupidity of the young boy before her.

"Tell me," she said, softly this time, "what did you summon? It was a spiritomb, wasn't it?"

John's eyes shot open, confused. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me!" She pointed at the scar running up his arm. "You did not get that from any accidental injury. I know the signs of a blood ritual when I see one."

She grabbed the boy by the hair, pulling his head back. John, surprised by the wiry strength of the old woman, choked in pain. The misdreavus floated towards John's face, hissing.

"What. Did. You. Summon!" The hag stammered through gritted teeth.

John's face sunk, and his voice dropped to a low, bass whisper. He stared bullets at the ground. His voice quivered uncontrollably. "Dusknoir."

The old hag's mouth hung open, sputtering out some nonsense, before deciding it wasn't worth the effort to convey the horrible dread she felt. She muttered something and hobbled over to her stool, mentally debating what she should do next. The boy was doomed, that she was sure of. But, perhaps she could help.

Finally, after much deliberating, she looked up and stared down John. She spoke slowly, each word growing icier than the last. "Tell me everything. Do not," she emphasized, "leave out anything."

John sat up slowly, and started speaking. The words flew effortlessly out of his mouth as he recounted his story. It took him a few minutes to explain his reasoning for his actions, trying to justify them at every opportunity.

"You have to understand, I was desperate. I –" he stopped, considering his next words. "I just wanted to be with her so badly."

The hag shook her head disapprovingly. "I don't know what's worse: your foolishness or your inability to recognize that fact. Why would you think to chase a Mainland girl?"

John stared blankly, and the old hag huffed.

"Did you think you could win her over? Woo her heart?" The hag added mockingly. A twisted smile appeared on her face. "You don't honestly think you could have, do you? They would have killed you - and her - had the Mainlanders found out."

John's face turned dark red with anger, outlining the twisted eye on his face. He crossed his arms indignantly. "I made a promise, and she made a promise, and I keep my fucking promises. Unlike that ghost."

She coughed a hoarse laugh. Foolish and stubborn, the hag surmised. It was no wonder he found himself in such a predicament.

"Ghosts don't play by our rules," the hag retorted as she leaned in closer. "I have one more question to ask you: how did you summon the dusknoir? You mentioned why you did it, but not how."

The boy calmed down and briefly thought over the events. "There's a witch doctor that lives on the mountain north of my town," John began. "I was sitting on a cliff, looking at the walls of Rustboro, when she found me. Said she could help. Said she could get me what I want." John sighed and took a heavy breath. "And I believed her.

"She sold me everything I needed. There was a book that explained the ritual, and some items to go along –"

"What were the items?" The hag asked.

"I don't know," John admitted. "Hell, I don't even remember the name of the book." John looked at the hag expectantly. When he realized she wasn't going to speak, he piped up, asking the question that had been churning inside him.

"I'm gonna be alright, right?"

The hag and the misdreavus burst into horrible, cackling laughter. John's face reddened. Had he said something wrong?

The hag's laughter devolved into a series of hacking coughs, before she finally cleared her throat of the phlegm.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" The hag asked condescendingly. John stared back blankly, and the hag broke into laughter once more. "You aren't kidding. You are as dumb as you look."

She leaned forward as a teacher would to her student. "You made a blood pact with a demon, probably on the condition that you make another blood sacrifice as payment for its guidance. You utterly disregarded that fact – probably thought you could pay it back later, didn't you?" The hag harrumphed with disgust, and hammered her finger down to emphasize her point. "You went behind the demon's back and thought you could get away with it. The demon cursed you for your disrespect. You are, to put simply, utterly fucked."

The hag leaned back in her stool, while the misdreavus continued its haunting cackle.

John shook with dread. Cursed? The hag did nothing to satiate his burning curiosity. He folded his arms, attempting to exude an authoritative aura in an effort to remain in control. He felt anything but in control, however.

"How so?" He asked. He was not convinced the hag's words were true.

The hag beckoned the misdreavus. Using its telekinetic powers, the ghost-type retrieved a hand mirror from somewhere behind the hag and floated it over towards John's hand.

"Take a look for yourself," the hag said as John looked into the mirror.

John froze. His eyes bulged and his body tightened. His grip loosened, dropping the mirror to ground, which shattered upon hitting the ground; the noise it made sounded eerily similar to cackling laughter. He closed his eyes shut, yet it did nothing to remove the image burned into his mind. What he saw could only be described as a manifestation of a child's nightmare, the stuff of horror stories. His left eye was no longer its usual brown color; instead, the eye – cornea and iris - was blood red, with black tendrils creeping outwards on his skin.

"The tendrils will slowly crawl across skin, absorbing you body before, finally, absorbing your soul," the hag explained. "I hope you have gained a better respect for the dead."

"How long?" John croaked, his voice hoarse from the horrifying revelation.

The hag shook her head somberly. "I do not know."

John's head fell into his chest. "Surely there is something that could be done?" He asked pleadingly.

The hag closed her eyes in thought, humming quietly to herself. After a short time, she opened her eyes, and turned to face John, "Give me some time alone, I have much to think about." She waved her hand as if to shoo John away. "I will find you when I'm ready."

* * *

Mount Pyre, the holiest mountain in all of Hoenn, was a beacon to spiritualists and religions. It was said that the mountain was the birthplace of the Hoenn gods of earth and water. How true this was depended on the person asked.

The mountain sat shrouded in the center of the misty Lake Pyre. The saltwater lake was kept swollen all year round; it was, after all, the drainage point for the mountains to the east, where rainfall was plenty. The water from the lake then flowed into a river to the south, before it was dumped into the Sea of Hoenn.

It was quiet in this part of the country. For whatever reason – whether out of respect for the Holy Mountain, or due to the immense danger the pokemon that lived in these parts posed – humanity never caught a foothold in this region of the island. People have tried, numerous times in fact, to conquer the wild lands in these parts; each time, the settlements ended up abandoned. The most recent settlement that tried to establish itself was sacked by the city of Lilycove, a mainlander port city located on a small strip of land to the very south of the island. The settlers that weren't murdered were sold in to slavery, probably withering away in the farmlands bordering Lilycove.

No, it was not pokemon that caused the downfall of settlements - although they certainly contributed; it was the greed of man, in its vain attempt to better the individual, that halted the progress of a better future.

That old settlement lay in ruins directly to the south of Mount Pyre. John currently sat on the west face of the mountain, looking out in the same direction. The mist rising from the lake blocked any possible view he could have, but every now and then, he swore he could make out a few trees in the distance.

He sat quietly, mulling over the words the old hag had spoke to him. He softly touched his left eye. He didn't feel any pain, so that must mean he was fine, right?

The boy sighed. Such thoughts were foolish; they would not help the predicament he was in. While he wasn't entirely convinced the hag's words were true, he knew that he should not take them lightly. What he truly longed for was some company, and preferably not the hag and her cackling misdreavus. He reached for Tenji's apricot and released the shiftry.

The monster coalesced in an explosion of red light. It softly stretched and quietly observed his new surrounding; after all, he had missed most of the ordeal John had recently experienced.

The shiftry took notice of John's red eye, and glanced worriedly at John.

The boy was surprised; Tenji had never been one to express emotion.

A poke distracted John from the thought. He glanced over and caught the monster casting the same worried look at him. Except, John realized the pokemon wasn't worried, he was hungry.

John snorted. "Fuckin' typical of you," he said as he reached into his bag a grabbed a couple tree saplings from its interior. The monster greedily snatched the saplings and proceeded to devour them in seconds, producing a soft chuckle from John. At least there was some normality to this craziness.

Behind him, the old hag emerged from the Pyre Temple. Her misdreavus floated silently behind her.

"I brought you a shirt," she said as she sat down besides the boy.

John muttered a thanks and put the tunic on. It fit snuggly –perhaps too snuggly – across his chest. He unbuttoned the top couple buttons to release some of the tension.

"It's mine, so it'll probably be a little small for you," the hag said. "But, at least you have a shirt, so we both win." She smiled jokingly, before relaxing into the grass.

Suddenly, she bolted upright, as a thought came to her. "I never introduced myself earlier. My apologies for such rudeness." The old hag extended her hand out. "I'm Phoebe Antari. Sorry we had to meet under such exceptional conditions."

John smiled and accepted Phoebe's handshake. "John Smith. And don't think nothin' of it."

"I'm glad you think that way," Phoebe said, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "You can't stay here much longer."

"What," John said, shocked. He turned to face the old woman, sending an intense glare her way. Phoebe caught the stare, witnessing the boy's blood red eye dilating and contracting violently, and quickly averted her eyes.

"The spirits of the mountain are not pleased with your presence," she said, still greatly unnerved by John's eye. "The thought of someone stuck between worlds is anathema to them. If you stay much longer, they might turn violent."

John sighed, slumping his body toward the ground once again.

Phoebe pitied the boy; he was too young, too naïve to suffer as much as he has. And she knew his suffering would only grow worse as the curse spread. Kicking him off her mountain with probably no where to go? That was just cruel, too, despite her honest reasoning. The hag wracked her brain for something - anything - that could help this boy out.

She closed her eyes, thinking deeply; how could she save him from a fate worse than death?

An idea struck. It was idealistic and it was impossible, but sometimes the impossible work out in the end.

"Get up, child, and walk with me," Phoebe said. "I have an idea." She turned to John, who was still lying on his back, and kicked him in the side.

John bolted upright, and scowled at the old hag, before following her down the mountainside.

"What's the idea?" John called after her, unsuccessfully. The old hag ignored him and faded into the mist. The boy sighed and turned to Tenji, who was preoccupying himself by playing with a root strangling a mossy rock.

The pokemon looked up, annoyed that the boy broke his concentration.

"Let's go," John said, motioning in the direction Phoebe disappeared.

The trio traversed a thin, winding path along the mountainside. Phoebe navigated the harsh terrain with practiced ease, while John struggled behind her. The unruly grasses grew over the path, hiding pitfalls and loose rocks, and made the already hazardous passage even more dangerous. The fog grew thicker the farther down they walked, making it nearly impossible to see ahead; John could barely see five feet in front of him, effectively hiding the path from view. His only salvation was the soft silhouette of Phoebe walking in front.

Behind him, Tenji tripped over a loose rock. John stopped to help his fallen pokemon, only to turn around and see that Phoebe had disappeared from view.

"Gods dammit," muttered John. He swept a loose strand of hair out of his eyes, and – with arms out wide to maintain balance – continued along the treacherous path. John called out for Phoebe as he walked down the path, but to no avail; the thick fog seemed to swallow sight and sound.

"Shit," John hissed. He looked around, searching for any familiar landmarks he had passed. Hadn't he passed that tree before? Didn't he see the large boulder farther up the mountain? His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him, and he was, without a doubt, lost.

He continued walking down what he thought was the right path, although he wasn't entirely sure. The fog began to change, he noticed. Whereas the fog was usually calm and still, this fog had movement to it. Above his head, the fog ominously swirled in a circular pattern. Tenji hissed at something off in the distance, and a feeling of foreboding filled John's gut. There was a sinister presence in the air; he could feel it.

Finally, salvation arrived. A humanoid shadow skulked through the fog off in the distance. John was about to run after it, but a hand shot through the mist and latched into his arm. The boy whipped around, confronting his attacker –

Phoebe. The elderly woman stared intently at John, who returned a confused look back at her. Off in the distance, the humanoid shadow melted into the fog, disappearing from view.

"The spirits are playing tricks on you," the old hag warned. "Do not trust what you see."

The trio resumed their trek; this time John kept within arms reach of Pheobe, not wanting to lose sight of her again. The fog above stopped stirring in the air, returning to its calm, motionless state.

The land's slope gradually leveled out; soon the land grew flat. A small beach arose into view, with small boat rested on its brown, coarse sands. John recalled the shiftry, as the boat did not look big enough to carry three beings.

Phoebe arrived next to the boat and pointed a bony finger towards the water. "Push it in, will you?"

John grunted a response and pushed the boat far enough into the water so that it could float, but close enough so the duo could jump in without getting their feet wet. The old woman hopped in, followed by John, and made a motion to her misdreavus, whom John had not realized had been floating by Phoebe's side the entire time.

With its telekinetic powers, the misdreavus unhooked the paddle from the side of the boat, and began to row out into the lake. Mist rose slowly from the lake, like a ghost rising from the underworld. Behind them, Mount Pyre vanished behind a wall of fog. The fog was an irritant, John noted, as his eyes began to tear. Phoebe, on the otherhand, appeared completely unfazed by the allergenic mist.

An aura of hostile tranquility saturated the air of Lake Pyre. The surface of the water was deceptively calm, but John could feel a dark presence brewing just below the waters.

A few hours passed with nothing but silence.

"I have an idea," the old woman said, simultaneously interrupting John's thoughts and breaking the deafening silence. "It might help you with your situation."

John leaned forward, listening intently. The old hag carried on.

"You made a blood pact with a demon, so it is impossible to remove your curse, However, I've been thinking," Phoebe rested a thoughtful hand on her temple, "perhaps if you destroy the demon that placed the curse, the curse will be destroyed, too."

John carefully mulled over the logic behind her idea. It did make sense, after all. But he did have one question to ask. "How do you know the curse won't just fade away on its own?" The boy asked. "I've heard of other people being cursed by ghosts before. How do you know it ain't just one of those?"

The old hag gave an exasperated sigh. "As I said, you made a blood pact with a ghost. You have literally tied a piece of the ghost's soul to your own. There is no undoing that." Phoebe eyed the boy keenly. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't taking my advice seriously?"

John ignored her, not wanting to hear the hag's condescending words. Instead, he focused on the beach that was appearing through the fog. The boat gradually slowed down until it came to a complete stop just at the shoreline. John got out of the boat and stepped onto the wet sand, while Phoebe stood up and faced the boy.

"You are on the north shore of Lake Pyre. Lilycove is to the south of here. Please, please understand the gravity of the curse," she begged, concern etched into her face. "It will kill you."

John turned, waving away the advice. "Yeah, got it. You haven't stopped sayin' it."

A vein popped on the elder's temple as her rage surged. She quickly calmed down, however, and spoke, although more exasperatedly. "If you won't listen to my words, at least hear this." She stood up and cleared her throat, preparing for what was about to say. "Return to your witch doctor. Gather the items you used last time. Re-summon the dusknoir with the ritual, and _destroy it_."

She heavily emphasized the last two words, smashing her finger into her palm with each syllable. "Maybe – just, maybe – you might save your soul."

With that, the old hag sat down and motioned to the misdreavus. The paddle started stirring, and the boat began moving back into the misty waters of Lake Pyre, before disappearing into the wall of fog.

John watched silently, thinking over what she had said. Was it true? Would his curse truly consume is soul? His heart said no, but his mind said yes, and he didn't know which one he should trust more.

Regardless, what he did know was that he needed to find his way home. Mt. Pyre was in the south of Hoenn, and his village – and the witch doctor – was in the north. Going south for the night was no option; Lilycove was a mainlander city, and he would undoubtedly be killed or enslaved upon entering. The most logical option was to head through the woods due north; however, he had heard that Lilycove slavers had set up a base of operations somewhere near the northern shore of Lake Pyre. Heading blindly in that direction would be dangerous, too.

John sat down on a nearby boulder and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't re-cross Lake Pyre, and following the river to the ocean would bring him too close to Lilycove.

His only apparent option was to head east through the forested mountains, overshooting the slaver camp, and make his way back. Then he could head north.

John nodded his head, confirming his own thoughts. The mountains to the east were dangerous, but heading north or south was guaranteed danger.

The boy stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the best given his situation. Besides, he had heard rumors of a new settlement to the east, one made up of escaped slaves from Lilycove. Perhaps they could provide some help.

Lightening sparked and thunder crackled off in the distance as John walked down the wooded path lining Lake Pyre's shore. A storm was brewing; with it followed torrential rains and hurricane winds. John, of course, was oblivious to this as he headed deeper into the woods.

A short distance away, a man removed a pair of binoculars from his eyes. He had watched the entire exchange between the old hag and the boy, before the woman drifted back into the fog of Lake Pyre. She was a lost cause; the man would not step into the cursed lands of Mount Pyre, for the mountain teems with evil spirits. The boy, however…

The man unhitched a radio from his shoulder strap and called in his companions, talking to them in his native tongue. He had found their next catch.

* * *

**Blood ritual: **a method of summoning a ghost type; considered extremely dangerous and risky as it ties the ghost's soul to that of the performer; terms of the ritual are created by the ghost, and failure to uphold those terms is nearly suicidal and not recommended; while most towns and cities have no written law against it, being caught performing one is often punished with death

**Witch doctor: **a person that uses alternative medicines and, occasionally, supernatural means for treatment of various illnesses or conditions; contrary to their name, some practicing witch doctors are the most trusted medical professionals in their towns - likewise, some are scams and not to be trusted

**Pyre temple: **the sacred temple at the top of Mount Pyre, although the entrance looks more akin to a cave opening; contrary to its name, it is not actually a place of worship - rather, it houses the Gravekeeper of Mount Pyre; it is rumored that the temple spreads throughout the interior of the Holy Mountain

**The Gravekeeper: **term used to describe the position of looking after and maintaining the sacred Mount Pyre; this position has been held by the Antari family for many generations

**A Ghost's curse: **sometimes the more malicious ghost types place curses on those that have wronged the spirit; while symptoms may vary, the curse often leaves the victim feeling extremely ill, although they are rarely ever fatal; there is a story of a curse that devours the very soul of its victim, however, no incident of such a curse has ever been reported

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading, leave a review!


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